


Between the Wars

by Skull_Bearer



Series: Anteverse Refugee [3]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Canon Disabled Character, Christian Character, Confessional, Cute, Drift Bond, Fluff, Hive Mind, Humor, Jaeger Pilots, Jaegers, Kaiju, Kaiju Hermann Gottlieb, Kidfic, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Mourning, Muslim Character, Next Generation of Jaegers, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quiet, Religion, new generation, sorta - Freeform, survivor's guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 17:50:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skull_Bearer/pseuds/Skull_Bearer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Go find the young men never to fight again</em>
  <br/><em>Bring up the banners from the days gone by</em>
  <br/><em>Sweet moderation</em>
  <br/><em>Heart of this nation</em>
  <br/><em>Desert us not, we are</em>
  <br/><em>Between the wars</em>
</p>
<p>Every moment is valued, ever moment is grasped. The war is coming but for the moment, there is peace. Snapshots of the coming years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Adoptive Practices

**Author's Note:**

> Tags will change to reflect future installments.
> 
> Title and summary from _Between the Wars_ by Billy Bragg. Beta read by [sherriaisling](../../users/sherriaisling)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt has An Idea.

**Adoptive Practices **

 

Hermann had fallen asleep halfway through the film. It's about nine kinds of perfect, because he's slumped across the sofa, head in Newt's lap, whole lanky body completely relaxed.

Newt scratches at the back of his neck, and Hermann purrs, eyes sliding open for a moment, glazed and sleepy, then closing again with a sigh. When Newt moves onto his hand, he doesn't wake up. Somewhere in Newt's head he gets a hazy image of the sea, quiet and peaceful.

He turns Hermann's hand over, claws scratching against his skin, and rubs over the stiff tendons on the back of his hand. The skin is fine grained and soft on the pads underneath, and calloused around the sleek black claws. Newt plays with them, gently pressing in the pads and watching the claws slide in and out of their sheathes, from a few centimeters long, to almost four inches at their full extent.

Hermann sighs and murmurs, but doesn't wake up. And Newt has an idea.

Not just an idea. An Idea. The kind he knows will blow up in his face but which is so totally worth it for the fireworks. It's such a disaster that Newt makes a pact with himself: if Hermann wakes up before he gets back, he won't do this. He'll have to come up with a pretty damn good excuse, but he won't even try.

If Hermann _doesn't_ wake up though, all bets are off.

He takes the Vespa, and even then it takes him fifteen minutes to find the right shop with the right shade. He finds it in a small gothy shop and quickly dashes home, because he might have left it up to fate, but that doesn't mean he can't load the dice in his favour.

Hermann is still asleep. He's tensed a little, unquiet dreams, but when Newt settles back next to him he relaxes. Which is good, because Newt still hasn't thought up a good excuse for carrying three large pots of nail varnish.

But to be fair, he does his own nails first. He has to open the windows first because of the fumes. Fuck, it might be called _Kaiju Blue_ but that doesn't mean they had to use it as an active ingredient. It's a gorgeous shade of deep blue, and as close to the shade of Hermann's mottled skin as he can find.

Newt kicks his boots off and does his toes as well, waggling them to let them dry. It looks _great_. He can't wait until he and Hermann match.

He starts on Hermann's feet, sitting on the arm of the sofa and picking up the heavy, raptor-like talons and extending the claws one by one. The varnish leaves smooth aqua stripes down the black surface, darkening to a dark aquamarine with fine lighter streaks.

Newt finishes with that foot and gives it a kiss before moving on to the next one. Hermann hisses, but he is smiling in his sleep.

Newt shifts over once he's done, and settled back in his old place. Hermann curls up with his head on Newt's thigh, and doesn't stir when Newt starts on his hands. It takes a while, with four arms, and has to pause to blow them dry so they don't get blue streaks all over the sofa. He turns each hand over to paint inside the groove under each claw. Hermann shivers, growls.

Newt kisses his hand, Hermann nips at his leg, but doesn't wake up.

Well, fate has spoken. It wants to have Hermann wearing nail polish. Fate has excellent taste. Newt thanks it by finishing off with the little claws on Hermann's tail. They don't retract, and look almost like tiny scorpion stings, only without a poison sac. They end up bright blue.

There. That's adorable. The film is over, and Newt puts on the old 50's Journey to the Centre of the Earth, because Hermann loves that film, and Newt wants him to wake up but not be too pissed off.

Professor Lindenbrock barely has time to walk through the marching band before Hermann stirs and yawns. His claws stretch and Newt smiles because he's managed to paint them right down to the quick, no sign of black. "Are we watching this again?" They scratch lightly against his thigh.

"Come on, you love it." Newt rubs over the back of his neck.

Hermann yawns again, so wide his jaws click out of joint and Newt can see the rows of neat sharp teeth. He rolls his head back to let Newt scratch under his chin.

Newt had braced himself for being yelled at, bitten and possibly banished to sleep on the sofa tonight. He hadn't expected Hermann to just plain not notice. He blames the movie. Hermann is smiling at the screen, eyes half lidded and hands _hanging over the side of the sofa_.

In fact, it takes until the heroes are in Iceland before Hermann realises something's off. Newt is adjusting his glasses when Hermann catches his hand and pulls it down to eye level. He turns Newt's hand over, examining his suddenly blue streaked nails as Newt struggles not to grin. Then he catches sight of his own claws, and looks them over carefully.

"It's really nice, isn't it?" Newt gives up, he smiles.

Hermann looks at him, he isn't angry. He seems bewildered. He shakes his head slowly. "You are insane."

Newt watches him look himself over, flex his claws, and flick his tails up to examine the new decoration.

"You look great." Newt strokes the lean whip of a tail; it coils around his hand and taps the claw against his wrist.

"How do I take it off?"

"Um." Ah. "With nail polish remover."

"I was under the impression this contains alcohol." Hermann gives him a deadly look.

"Yeah."

"So I will not be able to remove it at all."

"Um, no."

Hermann rolls over and sits up, propping himself on his primary arms. "What brain damaged, backwater moron _ever_ gave you six PHDs?"

"It should flake off after a few weeks." Newt feels stung.

Hermann glowers at him and rolls over, curling up head to tail, back to Newt.

Newt could leave him to sulk, but he's just being unbearable and it would ruin his chances of getting laid tonight. Newt waits until Karla Gutheburg comes on screen, because she's Hermann's favourite character, then lies down next to him. He kisses the back of Hermann's neck, nibbles the hollow at the joint of throat and shoulder and hums lightly.

Hermann ignores him, even raising the spines on his back so Newt has to pull away a little or get pricked. He kisses the spines, and wonders if he should have painted them too-

"Do not dare."

"Come on, it'll set your eyespots off beautifully."

"I am not talking about this." Hermann shifts forward as much as he can without falling off the sofa.

Newt scratches between his shoulder blades, and Hermann relaxes a little without meaning to. Newt kisses the back of his neck. Hermann growls, but doesn't push him away. The spines droop and Newt pulls him back against him, nuzzling his cheek and trailing kisses down to the corner of his mouth.

Hermann doesn't react, not looking away from the screen where the Linderbrock expedition is venturing into the volcano. But when Newt kisses him again, Hermann's mouth twitches in what is _almost_ a smile.

Next time, New's gonna go for red.


	2. Outsiders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new pilots and staff arrive at the Shatterdome

**Outsiders**

 

The new recruits are to arrive that afternoon. Marshall Hansen calls a full meeting in the morning.

The Shatterdome feels crowded now, with the parts for the Jaegers being delivered and piled up - there are the remains of Cherno Alpha, Crimson Typhoon, plus any wrecks the nations of the world felt like donating - they don't have enough people to start putting them back together, but the repair crews are getting a head start for when the new mechanics arrive.

The huge space is busy now, it is loud. It feels good. Hermann sits down on the second support beam of Cherno's left leg, and Newt hops down to sit next to him. Raleigh and Mako slide in next to them. They smile, and Hermann nods back.

Everyone's standing a little closer together than usual, shoulder to shoulder. Tendo is on Hermann's right, with Alison and the rest of the Drift calibrators. They have not assembled since the war clock stopped (and had been cannibalized for parts to keep the generators going three months ago), and there's a sense of discomfort, protectiveness. The holes in their ranks ache like missing teeth.

Marshall Hansen is not the orator Pentecost had been, but he can read the mood. He sits on the upturned curve of a Jaeger skull-plate and clasps his hands. "I want you to remember whose side we're on." He looks around at them all. "We know what's at stake. There’re just a few hundred of us of us here. Who are we gonna be able to fight like this?"

Silence.

"The people we're getting are good. I vetted them, they're not idiots. We're not looking to replace the- those who're gone- god knows we can't, but we need to work with these people _as a team_."

No one precisely says anything, but Hermann can feel the disgruntled muttering around him.

"I'm not asking you to like this." There's a sharp edge to Hansen's voice. "But we can't afford any trouble. Do you think anything that comes through the Breach will _care_ if our pilots were on the front line or in a safe zone six months ago?"

Next to Hermann, Raleigh shifts and smiles lopsidedly. Mako nudges him.

"You're gonna work with these people." Hansen straightens. "I'm not gonna put up with any shit right now. From anyone. I don't care how long you've been in the PPDC, you get into a fight, you spend a night in the brig. Got it?"

There are nods all around, and grumbled _'Yessirs_ '. The group starts to disperse.

"Nice to get some minions again." Newt pulls himself up with a hand on Hermann's cane. "Got a few idiots from the Wall, but mostly mine used to be from our old lot- now than we can afford to pay them again. What about you?"

"The same." A few names he recognizes from the early days. People who left when the funding was cut or when they decided to spend the time they had left with their families. And some newcomers from the defunct Wall project. Hermann is reserving judgment for now, but it will be good to have more minds working on unlocking the Breach.

 

* * *

 

The cafeteria has been retired to a personal kitchen for the staff to use, and the old dining room is back in service after almost three years of lying empty. It echoes with their tiny groups. Hermann decides to pass on appearances and works through lunch.

They line up outside to meet the new arrivals in the afternoon sun. They come, bussed in from the airport, nosing their way through the usual BuenaKai protests- someone must have talked, because the crowd is easily four times larger than usual- then the doors open, disgorging a staggering flock of people that dwarfs their ragged assembly.

 The pilots.

_Gott_ , they're so _young_.

Perhaps Hermann is too used to the Shatterdome, but the new pilots seem barely more than children. Smooth-faced, smartly dressed in perfectly pressed uniforms, eyes gleaming for the coming challenge. They grew up during the war, and probably dreamed of being Jaeger pilots.

Just looking at them is enough to feel exhausted. Hermann can feel every scar under his skin, every unslept night. His clothes are worn out and tattered in comparison to their newly-pressed uniforms.

Next to him, the veterans of the PPDC are equally weary. They look so _tired_ , so many years of watching the clock and struggling for each new day. Haggard and completely beaten. None of them have been able to purchase new clothes for over a year. They look anything but heroes. So many of them are missing. They feel raw and denuded without the strength of the Kaidanovskys, the snap and sarcasm of the Weis, Chuck Hansen's swagger and rage.

And Pentecost. Six months later, it is still a shock to realise he is _gone_. A wrench, hard and cold as iron, deep inside. Hansen's face cracks like glass, and he closes his eyes. Hermann's hands clench. Tendo bites his lip. Newt tries not to look at anyone. Mako swallows and stares at the ground.

Newt takes his hand. Next to him, Alison slips an arm through his, Tendo puts an arm around her and rests a hand on Hansen's shoulder. Raleigh and Mako sweep arms around each other's shoulders. They lean against each other, press hands together. The ache leaves a little.

Hansen nods at Raleigh and Mako, and they wave the newcomers into the Shatterdome.

Then the new Shatterdome staff arrive- cooks, cleaners, everyone they'll need for the upkeep of a population that will number in the near thousands now. A few of them look familiar, and the stiff discomfort thaws a little. There are some waves from their ranks, and embarrassed smiles from the newcomers. Hermann sees Jess and Jésus, the JJs from Anchorage. They are greeted with smiles; at least the complaints about the cafeteria food should die down.

Then the mechanics, and this gets some shouts of welcome. Alison actually jumps down to greet the familiar faces- bumping fists, shaking hands and in one case sharing a head-butt.

Hermann smiles because he recognises the Kim family- old hands from the glory days. He had worked with them putting together the first Jaegers, world class mechanics. They had decided to retire after Victor Sound was brought down four years ago. They have barely changed- a little more lined, a little greyer- Maia spots him and smiles so broadly her face turns to a mass of laugh-lines. Hermann lifts a hand in welcome.

Then his and Newt's crews dismount. Experts and scientists and specialists sent to bulk out their denuded K-Science division. There are a number of embarrassed glances - no one wants to meet their eyes; those two idiots who never knew when to give up and somehow won anyway, making everyone else look pathetic. Rock stars, as Newt endlessly gloats. First in, last out. K-Science.

Hermann feels hideously uncomfortable, longing for the privacy of the lab, or the quiet of his quarters. Not this- being on display. There are too many people trying not to look at him. He shifts, and Newt glances away from examining his new team to glance at him

Then looks past him. "Holy shit." He jumps down to one of Hermann's new recruits, a heavyset woman he has never seen before-

Hermann blinks, because he has. In the Drift, through Newton's eyes. The woman looks up and smiles, a broad tooth-filled grin Hermann sees reflected again and again in Newt's memories.

"Hey! Hey!" Newt catches up with the woman and punches her arm. "Decided to stop hiding behind a rock?"

"Oh, fuck you." She punches back, hard enough to make Newton rock back on his heels. "Some of us have responsibilities beyond going monster hunting- Jesus Newt, what have you _done_ to yourself?"

Newt grins, and pulls his sleeves further back. "Aren't they awesome? Hey, Hermann!" He waves him over. "Come and meet Diane. And you thought working with me was bad."

Hermann shifts uncomfortably, but makes his way over. He will need to get used to working with these people one way or another- although he and Newt will still be sharing space as heads of their department. He holds out a stiff hand.

Diane seems to be of the Newton Geiszler school of formality, but takes his hand and shakes it with only a raised eyebrow at Newt- instead of just staring at it in shock as Newton had done on their first meeting. "Doctor Shane, correct?"

"That's me." She went to MIT, Hermann recalls her file. From Newton's memories he can see they were yearmates. She stops shooting Newton looks and smiles at him. "It's good to meet you Doctor."

"Likewise. I was impressed with your work."

She rolls her eyes. "Hiding behind a load of rocks isn't exactly stellar."

"No wonder you ended up that big," Newt snips in.

Diane prods him in the stomach, "Rich coming from you, pudgy."

Hermann feels his skin prickle, possessive, a growl catching in his throat. Newt takes it in stride and pretends to swoon. "How dare you! Hermann, defend my honour!"

"Be quiet." If Newton is comfortable with this, Hermann will try and back down. He turns back to Diane. "Your petitions for the Wall defenses held some intriguing ideas."

"They didn't take."

"The failsafes had promise; you have an eye for structure."

"Are we looking at the Jaegers, or this Breach?"

"Both, but we are focusing on the Breach. There will be no need for Jaegers if the Kaiju cannot break through."

"That's a bit of a long shot though," this is from another of the newcomers, a young man who looks barely out of university. His eyes gleam with excitement. "We need a new style of Jaegers, something that won't get immediately outstripped by the Kaiju- sorry sir." He inclines his head a little at Hermann.

"That is why we need control of the Breach," Hermann points out. "While we had a number of good years before the Kaiju caught up, we need to be sure this will not happen again."

"I think we need to break out of this idea that Jaegers are the only option for weapons." This is one of Newt's so-called 'minions', she's even shorter than he is, and inches away from prodding the young man in the chest. "We need something new, something tailored to the Kaiju so we're not just bashing them in the face-"

"I've been working on something like that-" Newt jumps in.

Half an hour later, they are still standing outside, arguing happily.


	3. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peaceful moments, quiet moments. Time passes.

The quality of the food Newton created has definitely improved. While Hermann does not believe he can ever be in a position to complain, or indeed to want to, he appreciates the change. Newt's first attempts have been little more than tasteless slush, reminiscent of a rotting carcass only thankfully without the taste or smell. Recently however, his creations have become more defined.

This one feels dense between his teeth, even a little tough. Hermann shakes his head to get a better grip, and enjoys the satisfying tear as the false flesh started to come apart. He swallows, feeling it start to shed against the lesser teeth lining his gullet.

Newt rubs his back, knuckles each side of his spine, gentle cirles around his eyespots. "I finally managed to isolate the growth protein, because seriously, ammonia, who looks at that and thinks 'yeah, that's a great chemical base for oxygen-dependant lifeforms'?" Newt presses a kiss between his lower shoulderblades. "I've been trying to copy the muscle structure I got from Mutavore- you stole three of her samples, so I guess she tasted good."

The next mouthful is a bit softer, less dry. The taste is sharp, too chemical to be mistaken for the real thing, but it is _good_. The flesh is solid in his mouth, a warm, comfortable weight in his stomach. Newt drops a hand to his abdomen and Hermann pauses, the pressure draws a slow prickle of pleasure up his spine. It feels good, sweet and intimate.

It also feels a little strange, Hermann glances down at himself. He is not sure if it due to sitting awkwardly on the floor, or having Newt's hand on him, but he is fairly sure his stomach is not as concave as before. He feels more solid, less breakable. Hermann rolls his shoulders, clenches and relaxes the lean muscles of his arms. They feel stronger, no longer like they are about to collapse under his weight.

"It's good, right?" Newt suddenly sounds a bit hesitant. "I mean, you don't have to just eat it if you don't like it, you can tell me if I fucked up."

"It is fine." Hermann, and keeps eating, if only for the pleasure of it. He is no longer hungry these days. These small meals, every few weeks when he sheds, is enough to keep him satisfied.

Newt nips the back of his neck and whines. "Oh come on, can I get some proper criticism here? What do you want? I can't make what you want if you don't _talk_ to me."

Hermann tries to talk around his mouthful, "If I tell you, will you shut up and let me eat?" A slaver of blue drool runs down his jaw and he slaps it away, mortified.

"Sure! Won't get another word out of me, piggy."

Hermann gives a muffled growl and swallows. "If you are demanding a challenge, then yes, I am very fond of liver, so please set yourself to counterfeiting that and leave me to eat."

"Liver." Newt is behind him, but Hermann can hear him grin. "That's those nice samples I'd get sent in which would _mysteriously disappear_ before I could run any tests on them."

Hermann stops. Oh. He had not realised-

"Yeah," Newt chuckles. "You ate the lot. So, uh, unless you can track down something for me, I don't have the molecular set up to copy it from."

Were he human, Hermann would be blushing uncontrollably. As it is he can feel his skin trying to shift colour to hide and not be here. Newt pokes him in the stomach. "Come on, try again."

"Will you leave me alone!"

"Nope. Tell me and then you eat in peace."

Hermann groans. "I like meat softer and more tender, this is dense and a little hard. Happy?"

"See! Told you it was easy. Okay, eat up."

Hermann grinds his teeth and takes a fresh mouthful to drown out any more arguments.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermann wakes with a jolt, going from fast asleep to wide awake almost instantly. For a moment he is left ramrod straight on the bed, eyes wide and ears straining for any sound. The room is silent but for their breathing, the curtains half open to let in a line of white moonlight-

-which must have been what woke him. The moon is only a cresent, but here, with half the streetlamps burnt out and the remaining power rerouted by the local squatters, it is quite dazzling. Hermann rolls out of bed and pulls the curtains closed, blinks as his eyes adjust to the darkness, and trots back to bed. He lies down next to Newt- who has not so much as stirred- and closes his eyes, waiting to fall asleep again.

He cannot remember what they were dreaming, but it was peaceful, whatever it was. Quiet. Probably not the lucid dreams they sometimes manage- those he always remembers. Newt insisted on trying to fly in the last one they shared, saying that was what everyone did in the best dreams. Hermann maintained it was a waste of time and spent the night examining Newton's memories of MIT while pointedly ignoring him.

Hermann opens his eyes. He still does not feel remotely tired. On the contrary, his mind is determined to spin in circles and his body is thrumming with energy. He rolls over, trying to push it away, settle down and go back to sleep. His arms cramp from being laid on, the blankets he normally loves are itchy and snag on his spines.

Hermann slides closer to Newt, hoping to catch the undertow of his dreams and be pulled down at well, but nothing. Newton is too warm and Hermann feels his muscles twitch with the desire to _move_ and _do something_.

He has no idea what to do. He has never been in this position. For the last ten years sleep is something scratched out between emergencies, not something he could ever have too much of. He has never _not_ wanted to sleep.

Well, he never used to be consistantly _not_ _hungry_ until recently either. The two might be connected.

Newt yawns and rolls over. His eyes blink open, glazed in sleep and unseeing in the dark. "Wassamatter?"

"Nothing." Hermann touches his arm, "Go back to sleep, I am sorry for waking you."

Newt stretches, Hermann watches fascinated at the way the motion pulls at the tattoos on his skin, changes the shape and expression of the Kaiju. They are colourless in the dark. "Can't sleep?" Newt rolls in against him.

"No." Hermann tries to find a reason, fails. "I am too awake." He says finally.

"Hey, it happens. What'd you want to do? We can watch a movie, or read, or go for a walk-"

"You do not have to-"

"You think I can sleep when you're tossing around like that? We'll go for a walk, it's like three AM, no one's out 'cept the drunks, and they see worse than _you_ every night."

Hermann hesitates, it is an ungodly stupid risk. Even at three AM it only takes one person to see him and his life will suddenly become immeasurably more diffficult. But the streetlamps are never on, on the beach it should be dark enough not be seen, and he is so desperate to _move_ Hermann knows it will be either that or pacing the flat until morning.

Besides, if he cannot be invisible on a dark beach in the middle of the night, then he is no kind of inflitrator.

"Very well."

The night is still warm, even this far into autumn. Newt throws on pants and a shirt but does not bother with shoes. Hermann leaves everything upstairs, clothes just get in the way and he can go without the cane as long as he does not try and stand up.

It has been _years_ since he has been outside like this. The air is cool and sharp on his skin, it tastes of spray. They pick their way gingerly across the street, concrete hard on bare feet, to where it crumbles through ten years lack of maintance into the scrubby sand.

Even to Hermann's eyes, the sea is a mass of black, with only the silver road of the moon and a few dots that could be stars or phospherous. He sits down, and Newt drops down next to him, kicking sand. They watch the ocean like a great, sleeping beast, 

They should say something, reassure each other that it's safe, that it is their ocean now, tame and familiar. Hermann feels Newton trying to find the right words, but they do not come. It is enough to stay here and bask in this security. That nothing will happen to them, at least tonight.

Hermann picks himself up, and shakes the sand off his hide. Newt puts a hand on his back and Hermann realises he must be half-blind in the darkness. Behind them, a car speeds past, a brief flash of light that makes Hermann stop dead. But no one sees them, and they walk on. Newt keeps one hand on the ridge of his back, next to the faintly phospherecent eyespots which are probably all Newt can make out of him.

The breeze picks up, it is fresh and sharp, vivid. And suddenly Hermann cannot stand it any longer, his muscles ache to _move_ and the energy comes up like a flame and torches his throat. Almost before he knows it he's moving, springing off his good leg, claws extended to find purchase on the sand. Newt give a stuttered shout and stumbles when Hermann jumps away.

It takes a few moments of uncertain strides to find the right rhythm, the usual one-two-five-six beat turned one-three-two-six. It is lopsided and rocking, his tails swing out to keep him balanced, but he is _running_ , for the first time in ten years of exhaustion. His hands splay to spread his weight and keep from sinking into the sand, so fast he is skimming over it, so fast it feels like flying. The blood roars in his ears, his breath catches sharp as a knife in his lungs, he can just hear Newt behind him, laughing and trying to catch up-

He tries to turn, too lost in sensation to remember to compensate for his bad leg, and overbalances. His legs slide out from underneath him neat as dominos overturning and he flops to the sand.

Newt is breathing hard when he catches up, Hermann is still lying outstretched on the sand, panting. His blood is alive inside him, skin fizzing with energy. "You okay?" Newt touches his upper shoulder. His skin feels cold. Hermann must be burning hot.

Hermann nods, his tails flick and thump on the sand. "That was good." Marvelling.

"Give me warning next time, I almost lost you." Newt helps him up. "You wanna go a bit further?"

Hermann stretches. It has been so long since he has done this that his muscles are already aching. A walk would do them good. "Not far." They are coming close to the half-finished coastal wall, and that is likely to be peeople there even at this hour.

Even from he he can just make it out, a jutting line on the horizon, abandoned and useless until the authorities decide whether to tear it down, turn it into a memorial or just cave to the masses already squatting there and let it rot.

The yawn catches him by surprise. He is not quiet tired yet, but certainly getting there. "We can turn back."

"Yeah, view's a bit spoiled. You know some idiots are talking about turning it into housing? It's like they thought 'yeah, never mind it's a giant fucking Kaiju target, we're going to stuff as many people we can inside so next time the Breach opens they can get their humongous death toll with minimal effort', like it's some kind of quota system."

"I really doubt they were thinking that."

"Yeah, I'm probably giving them too much credit. I bet there are starfish who've thought more than these morons, and they don't have brains."

"One has no doubts you are a biologist." Hermann yawns again, and sets Newt off. "Not everyone who is less clever than you is an idiot."

He has no idea why he is even arguing as tiredness slowly catches up with him. But then by now it has probably become a reflex action, something to do while his brain slowly starts easing down before sleep. The thought brings up a surge of fondness and he bumps against Newt's hip as they walk.

 


	4. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day trip out over the Breach.

** Return **

 

As always, Newt is completely oblivious to the general mood, to the point where Hermann is deeply regretting asking him to come. Yes, having a biologist along would have its benefits, but they now had the makings of a reasonable science division, with several promising biologists who would have given their left arms to go-

But he had asked Newt, and the man had grinned and answered "Couldn't bear to be without me for a few days, could you?"

_Gott_ help him, he was right. 

So Newt is happily bouncing off the walls and driving the ship's crew out of their minds. They are already on edge. Even nearly a year after the Breach closed, few crews venture into the Pacific, and those that did prefer to stay close to shore. This group is almost entirely silent in their fear, trying to ignore the hyperactive biologist.

Hermann cannot help but share their attitude, checking and double checking the robotic sub that would be carrying the equipment. He is supposed to set up delicate probes around the closed Beach with this thing, probes that should allow them to try and establish their own control. Hermann looks at the robot's stubby pincers and the hazy display on the old computer, and wonders if there is a way to disappear for a few days during a shed to set it up _properly_ by hand.

Newt quiets down after they set off, the rattle of the engine breaking the uncomfortable silence as Hong Kong slowly slips away over the brassy horizon.

It has been a year, and the Pacific Ocean still feels like enemy territory. Hermann turns his attention to the sub's coding; maybe he can salvage something from this mess. Newt occupies himself with his sample bottles, tying them off and throwing them over the side.

The first night is the worst. Hermann spends three hours turning and jumping at the slightest sound, itchy and uncomfortable in the heat, before he gets up and goes back to his computer. Outside, most of the crew are sitting around with mugs and watching the water warily.

Hermann gets himself a cup of tea with a nod of thanks. They nod back. No one says anything. Someone coughs, and everyone jumps.

Hermann sits at the little bolted-down table and chair, door open to bring in fresh air, and glowers at Newt who is cheerfully snoring. The man has the self-preservation instincts of a gnat, but Hermann is glad he came. He is not sure if he could work in silence any more.

He can manage without much sleep, and when the sun rises he is still coding. The sub's capabilities are still utterly subpar, but the code is allowing for more delicate manipulation which should let him put his equipment together at the bottom of the ocean.

He still has not ruled out just swimming down there to finish it himself, though. He would have to get a decent light source, and probably a waterproof map and GPS that would survive the water pressure, but surely it would be easier-

Newt yawns, then jumps out of bed and runs out. Hermann rubs his aching eyes and follows him. Outside, Newt is pulling up his sample bottles and examining them. "Good morning."

Newt blinks at him. "Oh yeah, morning. Hey, I caught some fish! I think that's an anchovy-"

Hermann leaves him to it. He is too tired to deal with Newton at this time of the morning. He does not envy the crew.

 

* * *

 

 

He makes it through the day, and by the evening they are in place over the closed Breach. It is too late to start anything today, and Hermann would not want to be operating machinery without sleep, let alone anything this delicate.

 Newt seems to have finally burnt himself out after chattering endlessly about the replenishing fish stocks, which confirms Hermann's theory Newt is capable of getting enthusiastic over anything. "I was _way_ too hot last night, I'm going to sleep outside." He announces, picking up the foam mattress. "Wanna come?"

 Hermann can barely keep himself awake, and the idea of curling up next to Newt is very appealing. "Very well."

The crew seems to have decided if the Kaiju are coming, they might as well face them after a night's rest. The deck is quiet, and the heat is less oppressive out here. Their bed is uncomfortable on the bare boards, but Hermann has slept on worse, and Newt cuddles next to him and mumbles a confused _goonight_ before apparently falling asleep at once.

 The night is quiet, the sea is still. The boat rocks gently. The sea shines under the full moon. It is soothing. Hermann feels his eyes slide closed.

 

* * *

 

 

The morning dawns bright and sunny, and calm. Hermann yawns, and Newt mumbles something incoherent into the back of his neck. He carefully untangles himself, finds his cane and goes back to their cabin to get changed. Newt is just stirring when he comes back, and Hermann walks over to the handrail. The water is calm, and too deep to see anything but deep blue.

 It looks inviting, particularly in the heat. He has not dared swim since he first came here, and the memories - such as they are- are not unpleasant. He wonders, if the crew were not here, if he could strip off his skin, and climb over the side and have a look around-

 Bubbles suddenly break the surface, and a dark shape moves beneath the water.

 Hermann jerks away from the rail with a cry, adrenaline exploding through him. There's _nowhere to run_ \- they are trapped-

 Newt struggles out of the blankets and fumbles for his glasses, coming up to stand next to Hermann. Hermann throws up a hand to push him back and water bursts-

 The creature flies up, spraying water in a wide arc; it is bullet-smooth, dark as the ocean and huge.

 Not Kaiju huge.

 Newt starts laughing, and puts a hand around Hermann's shoulders. "What's the matter Herm? Never seen a whale before?"

 The whale crests the top of its leap, and smashes back down, tail flicking spray. The waves make their small boat rock.

 Hermann tries to catch his breath, calm down. The crew scrambles out in a panic, and Newt turns around. "S'okay! It's just a whale!"

 Hermann is sure the ship bobs in time with the sigh of relief. Some scattered laughter. They crowd the rail, trying to spot more of the animals.

 "Yes- there- look!"

 "That one, must be a little one-"

 "There- no, damn, it just dived-"

 There are about seven of the creatures within sight. Newt leans on the rail next to Hermann. "No one's seen a pod in the Pacific for eight years. I mean, there's a few in the Atlantic we've been keeping fed, but we're going to _have_ to take new zooplankton surveys. If there's enough to feed a pod this size then the stocks are doing _way_ better than we thought-"

"Yes." Hermann agrees. Several of the crew are trying to film the pod on ancient mobile phones, cheering when one of them jumps. The enthusiasm is contagious. For the first time since they left shore, the tension is gone.

Newt looks at him, smiling. "Hey. They look great don't they?"

They do. Beautiful. "Yes." He says again, smiling when Newt takes his hand.


	5. Refuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt has his own stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came up with Newt's backstory before any of the DVD extra content was known, so this is AU to that (although having one of our boys being Kaiju is pretty AU enough)

There is a knock on the door.

Hermann does not get up, he continues reading with only a "Come in."

Newton drops his pillow on Hermann and drops down at the end of the bed. Hermann bats the pillow away impatiently and tries to remain focused on the book; it _is_ actually interesting and he would like to read for as long as possible before Newt makes it impossible.

Newton waits patiently for a few seconds, then, to Hermann's not-displeased surprise, just decides to lie down next to him, head on his abdomen, one hand curled against his flank. He even takes his shoes off.

Hermann drops a hand to Newt's hair, his fingers splay more comfortably, stretching the skin into more natural shapes. "Tired?"

"Hmmm." Newt agrees. His fingers press against the corner of a hipbone. He is wonderfully warm, and the heat eases the aches of hours spent in the wrong posture, weight on weakened back legs, no tails for balance. Hermann folds his book away and curls around Newt eagerly, soaking in the warmth as his body shifts out of human alignment, stretching aching joints and settling into a more natural configuration.

Hermann nuzzles the arch of Newt's neck, he smells clean and sweet; he must have showered before coming over. Hermann is torn between being pleased at the effort and annoyed Newt did not just come here. Hermann's bathroom might be the size of a small closet, but it is private, and he can admit to himself that having Newt walking around naked would be more than welcome.

Maybe Newt is afraid of scaring him off by suggesting they move in together at once, trying to ease him into it gradually. As though Hermann would not notice the slowly accumulating clothes and books, the little kaiju figurines that have become a fixture on his bookcase.

Hermann lets him, because Newt can stand to take his time for once, but looks forward to when Newt no longer bothers carrying his pillow back to his unused bed and just leaves it here, where it belongs. Where he belongs.

Newt makes a happy sleepy sound and butts his head against the ridge of Hermann's ribcage. He mouths wordlessly into the hollow of Hermann's stomach, and gets a kiss for his troubles. Hermann nibbles the back of his neck, blunt human teeth slipping uselessly against the skin. The marks he has left from his last shed are starting to fade, and it will be several weeks before he can replace them.

Perhaps he can schedule an earlier shed. With Newt providing regular meals, he no longer needs to ration growing new skin, and Newton will certainly not complain.

Newt shifts, and maybe he caught some of that because he's half-hard against Hermann's thigh. He smiles, but is more asleep than awake and it is so rare to see him quiet that Hermann does not have the heart to wake him. He listens as Newton's breathing evens out to sleep.

Somehow, Newt is even warmer asleep than awake, radiating heat like a furnace during the night, and even in the chill of the Shatterdome they only need one blanket over them. The nubby wool that marks it as Hermann's favourite traps the warmth and is so light it feels like floating inside a cloud. Hermann snuggles back down, lined up against Newt from neck to ankle. Newt mutters, eyes moving behind closed lids. He is dreaming.

Hermann pulls him close, stifles a purr, and shuts his eyes.

 

* * *

 

The world is offkilter in the dream. The house Hermann find himself in is too large, towering ceilings lost in shadow, dark cracks in the floorboards threatening to swallow him. The light from the distant front door is bluish and cold. 

The hallway suddenly bursts with incoherent shouts that send him scuttling into the shelter of a banister rail. He cannot make out the words, the language. It is coming from a room to the front of the house, and the force of the noise is like a physical blow. He crouches low to hide against the skirting boards, hoping whatever is making the noise do (does) not see him.

The stairs in front of him seem endless, but something tugs at him to climb. At least the upper levels seem quiet. The steps each feel a meter high and when he moves to pull himself up his legs slide out uncertainly from under him. Hermann looks down at himself and it dawns that it is not the house that is too large- it is he who has become too small. His limbs are out of proportion, his tails too long. He feels small and vulnerable as he has not for unknown years.

Hermann has few memories of being a child, if such a word is applicable to him as he was - as he is. Too small, too vulnerable, skin soft in the raw air, body new-built, uncertain, unmarked by claw or tooth. He feels naked at the noise - a clatter, a scream - and the fear sweeps over him and Hermann forces himself up the stairs.

His claws are too long and do not fit properly inside their sheathes, catching on the carpet as he climbs. The stairs creak under even his slight weight, and Hermann freezes. Fortunately the shouting drowns out any noise he makes.

The floor above is carpet over bare boards, and Hermann tests every step before putting his weight on it. There are three doors here, judging by the spacing of the doors, the one straight ahead is ajar, showing an empty master bedroom, the second further down is closed and what is probably a bathroom at the end of the corridor. All are dark, lights off and switches too high up to reach. He does not dare stand up in his uncertain body, nudging the second door open and crouching down to look inside.

The room is certainly Newton's. The walls are covered with child's drawings, there are building blocks on the floor, and when he slips inside, he spots a stuffed toy half his size lying half under the bed. Hermann smiles. He recognises Godzilla.

The toy suddenly vanishes under the bed. Downstairs, there is a sharp _crack_ and a cry. Hermann jumps, and scuttles down to join Newt under the bed.

The hanging blankets block out most of the light, Hermann feels his eyes slide wide to compensate for the dark. He can see the little huddled figure, face buried in the worn felt of the stuffed toy. Hermann creeps up to the boy, trying not to frighten him, and he does not look up until Hermann curls up around him, fitting the round body in the hollow between hip and ribcage.

Newt jumps, and looks at Hermann with huge round eyes. Hermann blinks back up at him, studying the eternally messy hair, over-large ears, round cheeks. He can mark the moment where Newt realises he is dreaming; where the eyes of Newt the child turn to the eyes of Newton the man. He frees a hand from clutching the stuffed toy, and rubs down Hermann's face to under his chin.

It feels good. Hermann smiles. The shouting from downstairs mutes and the world takes the veneer of unreality of a lucid dream. "Hey." Newt's voice is high-pitched. "Wow, you're adorable."

Hermann sits up and tries to sneer, it fails. He bumps his head on the bottom of the bed. Newt grins. "Oh, shut up." Hermann's voice is a weak rasp, uncertain.

The world around them flickers like paper touched by flame. It fades, and blinks out. Hermann shakes his head, and the sudden bright sunlight dazzles him. They are outside now, sitting in the grass on a summer's day. Hermann stretches and his body is his again, his now. Newton too is an adult- as much as he usually is anyway. He's propped up on his elbows, eyes closed and face turned to the sun.

They are in a clearing beside a small lake, sunlight dappled under the treeline, the edge of mountains in the distance, the gable of a roof on the far side of the water. It reminds him of the months he spent studying for his first degree in Heidelberg. It was beautiful, and a wrench to leave it, even for Cambridge.

"Newton." He still doesn't look at Hermann. "Newt." Hermann touches his shoulder.

Newt smiles at him, he looks miles away. The shadows under the trees dance in strange shapes, the outlines of thoughts. "Yeah, right." He shifts over until he's half in Hermann's lap. He rests his head against Hermann's upper shoulder. "You make the cutest kid."

"Hmm." Hermann closes his eyes, propping his head on Newt's. "You were very sweet, yourself."

And apparently that's enough, because Newt is for once happy to be quiet. It suits this place, the trees muffle sound, the mountains intimidate it, the lake swallows it. Were they not already asleep, Hermann could sleep here unfearing. "Did you grow up here?" He rolls his voice low, a soft growl. The land seems all wrong for that horrible house.

"Hmm?" Newt starts. "What? No. I left _that_ house-" Hermann jerks a thumb absently over his shoulder - "when I was five. With Mom."

There's a flicker in the dream, the half-drift, half hivemind; Hermann feels the start of a huge hand against his face, a warmer one holding his, pulling him away from that miserable place. A tiny suitcase held close, the stuffed Godzilla clutched to his chest. Hermann's arms tighten a little around Newt.

"Oh, come on." Newt shrugs him off. "Seriously man, it was nothing. He hit me like once, then Mom had enough and we skipped the country. Had to couch-surf a bit after that, but I mean, it doesn't compare."

Hermann does not let him pull away. His claws dig in a little. "Do you think this is a _competition?_ " The growl has a note of warning.

"Oh whatever." Newt shakes his head. "Just don't start thinking I'm gonna start crying all over the place- not that you do- or that it's a bad thing- okay, I'm gonna just shut up, okay? And you can too."

The moment stretches, silent. "So, where are we?" Hermann finally murmurs.

"Oh, right." Newt stretches, Hermann feels his body shift under his shirt, warm and sweet. "Mom hated Boston, so after I got to teach in MIT we scraped together and got her a place in Switzerland. Middle of nowhere, but it's really nice here and Mom wanted somewhere they spoke German. Plus, you know, landlocked."

"A notable advantage." Hermann curls up a little closer, and Newt relaxes against him. "How often did you come here?"

"I was supposed to go visit over summer term, but- Trespasser, yeah. And after that, maybe like twice." He looks at Hermann wistfully, "I kinda wish-"

The dream shimmers, overlayed with the outline of another, warmer house. The smells of hearthfire and woodsmoke fill their small world, of cooking meat and comfort and a deep feeling of _home_ that is not his.

"Yes." Hermann agrees and the impression fades. He puts a hand on Newt's arm. He feels the loss, and he aches to be the cause of it.

"S'not your fault. Herc blows his top if we're gone more than a day, hell no us taking day trips to Geneva."  Hermann snorts. "Hey, do you know how much my Mom wants to meet you? She'd string me up if she didn't get to meet you after I've been going on about you for like _ten years_."

Hermann looks down at himself. His skin is black against the green of the grass, he can feel the earth under his claws, the flicker of the light through the trees play across his eyespots. He cannot imagine this meeting going as anything other than a disaster.

"Hey, she'd be okay with it." Newt puts an arm around Hermann's shoulders.

Hermann stiffens. "You do not tell anyone. I cannot believe I have to tell you this-"

"You can trust me-"

"Of course I do, but you are also a blasted optimist and a extremely poor judge of character." His lip curls.

"Yeah well, not like I'm going to be able to tell her any time soon. It's not like I can do it over the phone." The sun is so warm, Hermann can smell snow off the high mountains, and the ache Newt has for coming here again. A place untouched, a place hallowed. Home.


	6. Apostate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermann and religion

_"Greetings my son, how long has it been since your last confession?"_

_"I- How does one do this, I do not-"_

_"Simply speak, unburden yourself. I am here to listen. Nothing  more. To speak is to free yourself from guilt and sin."_

_"Can- could I ask a question?"_

_"Of course my son, ask."_

_"Does this Mast- does God, Jesus- does he love- me?"_

_"Yes my son, He loves all his creations, with all of His heart."_

_"And if- if one is- perhaps, theoretically- not one of His creations. If you are- not. What then?"_

_"And whose creation would you be if not God's? We are all His children."_

_"If you belong to- someone else. Someone who is not God."_

_"I see." A sympathetic silence. "My son. It doesn't matter where you come from. Do you turn your back on the darkness? Do you accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Saviour, repent of sin and embrace the light?"_

_"Yes." A broken sound. "Yes, please yes."_

_"Then God blesses you. No matter what anyone may tell you, He loves you, you are His child."_

_"Thank you." A whisper._

_"Go in peace."_

* * *

 

Hermann looks up as the room explodes into cheers. His leg screams from the hard plastic of the chair, and when he blinks, his eyelids feel like sandpaper. He gets up and staggers when his leg sends cramps up his entire right side. Tendo steadies him. "You did it!" His eyes shine under the bags. "Hot damn, you did it again." He's grinning; Hermann manages to return the expression.

 

"We did it." His voice rasps. _Gott, Vater, Sohn_ he is so _tired_.

Tendo slaps him on the back, Hermann flinches, but he does not notice anything. "Lady Danger, Scimitar Gray. Holy fuck, we've got Jaegers. We are _back in business!_ " He shouts. The room cheers. Hermann smiles, and tries to stagger to the campbed he's been sleeping on for the last week.

"Hey," Tendo steps closer, "You wanna go back to your room?"

Hermann shakes his head. The motions sends sparks dancing in front of his eyes, he is so tired. "Let me- lie down. Give me a few minutes."

"You got it."

Hermann collapses. The last time he did this, the shed caught him halfway through and he finished the Mark One codes at his apartment, typing with three hands and drinking one cup of tea after another with the fourth because there was no _time_ to grow a new skin- even to travel back to the Shatterdome.

He had not been present for the battle with Karloff, lying in bed and growing new skin. But he had kept the television on, and seen the battle. He'd been welcomed in with cheers, cries of victory. Despite the cane, the hunger, the scars, Hermann had wondered if he could fly that day.

He falls asleep between one thought and the next, and dreams of wings beating above great machines.

He wakes up to soft voices, the clink of dismantling machinery, and someone presses a hot mug between his hands. Hermann grunts and sits up, then takes a swallow of tea. It scorches his mouth.

Shane nods at him and goes back to join Li dismantling the bank of computers. "Time?" He croaks over the rim of the mug.

"Half seven. Li wanted to let you sleep, but I wanted my hardware back."

Hermann rubs a face that does not quite feel as though it belongs to him- though the last shed was not quite two weeks ago. "What about the data? Have you gone through-"

"Jameson and his team are patching the holes on their tablets." Li answers from under the table, among the snarl of cables.

"We caught most of them though." Shane punches the air with a meaty fist. "Arthur's bitching we left him nothing to do. He's threatening to turn up in time for dinner."

"Yes." Hermann barely understands a word. His head is stuffed to the ears with cotton-wool. He swallows more tea and the fog thins a little. "We lost some coordination on Scimitar's right arm, the code needs more work, the motion was uncertain-" He tries to get up, and his legs waver a moment before agreeing to work.

"The motion was fine. We looked over the tapes and that was the pilots. The Hussains lost control."

"At the same time?" Hermann braces himself on the table. Some flaws were to be expected, it was the brother-sister pair's first time in a Jaeger, but to go out and in of alignment at the same time was uncanny.

"Weird thing." Shane agrees. "They all looked a bit strange coming out, but you know, first Drift."

Li comes back up and hands him his cane. "You left this in the bathroom."

Had he? Hermann has no idea. The last twenty hours are a blur of numbers. "Thank you Doctor Li." He pinches the bridge of his nose. The skin feels numb and raw at the same time. It feels twisted and uncomfortable around him. "Have you run the numbers for the gunnery drill? We were not getting the correct responses from the firing mechanisms-"

Shane reaches to take his arm, Hermann jerks away. "We got it. Just go and- I don't know - eat something, get more sleep. Arthur'll hit the roof if you try and fix the code. He wants his name mentioned _somewhere_."

Hermann smiles. it feels awkward. The skin pulls wrong. It takes him a few steps for his legs to understand walking again and for everything to start- fitting correctly again. "Doctor Gottlieb?"

Hermann pauses at the door, "Yes Doctor Li?"

The woman smiles, still holding a handful of cables. "Thank you."

 

* * *

 

 Hermann walks, slowly waking from a head full of cotton and a body that is still uncertain as to what shape it is mean to be. He has a half-hearted goal of finding Newton, because he hasn't seen him in- Eight hours? Twelve if he imagined him coming in with that mug of coffee- everything became a little hazy by the end- maybe more- what day is it anyway-?

When he looks up, his feet have led him to outside Pentecost's old office. No one uses it. No one talks about it but Hermann suspects there would be a riot should anyone suggest using it. It's been almost a year. The wounds are still too raw.

The door is open a little. Hermann hesitates, the corridor is deserted and there is no sound from inside. Finally, he pushes the door a little further, and looks inside.

It has not changed. The furniture is untouched. The room is cold from the open window, the last slanting rays of the evening sun. The air smells of Hong Kong, the sea. Hermann steps inside and the grief is a sudden fist inside his chest. _Gott_ , not yet a year. This time last year they were- all alive. Panicked, terrified, barely hanging together and staring down extermination. But together. And now they are alive, they have won and they have Jaegers again- the first Mark VIs, and-

What would Pentecost say? What would he think?

Against a wall, under a row of bare shelves, someone has built a small shrine. There's a picture of Pentecost, some candles. A few bowls holding ash, two with cut fruit. A few river pebbles have been left next to them.

Hermann might have been standing there for hours before the door creaks and he jumps.

"Sorry, we didn't- I mean-"

He recognises the Hussains, still in their suits. "No, come in. I was only-" Only what? He has no idea.

They shuffle in awkwardly, stand beside him next to the shrine. "Who made this?" Hermann's voice comes out quieter than he means it.

"I don't know." Kal shuffles, looks away. "I guess- I mean, I didn't know him- that well, but it seemed like-"

"The right thing to do." Her brother finishes when she trails off.

Hermann kneels down, laying his cane flat and looking more closely at the offering bowls. The ash is charred banknotes, the fruit- oranges. Pentecost used to love them. They were so hard to get even in Hong Kong.

He hears the creak of Kevlar as the twins sit down next to him. "He spoke to us." Kal whispers.

Hermann looked at her. Her eyes are wet, damp streaks down her veil. Her brother swallows, fighting and failing to hide his own. "In the Drift?"

"I would swear it." Her voice catches. "I spoke to Mori and Beckett, they too. It was- when we-" She swallows, shakes her head again.

"He was there," Idim Hussain continues, ghost-Drifting. "We nearly got lost- the first Drift, _Allah Ahkbar_ , it was so _loud_ -" He almost sobs. "And then he was there- a voice in our heads-"

His sister sniffs. "You must think we're mad."

Hermann shakes his head, "God is great." He repeats.

"God is great," They agree.

Kal's eyes crinkle in a smile. "He must have sent him. A prophet for our time."

"Patron Saint of the Jaeger Program." Hermann agrees. Then, because he has to do something, he takes a saucer from under a candle and pours a little of his tea in it, placing it back before the shrine. It's a sorry little offering, but it helps unknot the fist of pain inside his chest.

Behind him, Kal  and Idim Hussain bow their heads, Hermann can hear silent whispers as they pray.

Hermann rubs his bad leg, it's starting to ache. He wonders if Pentecost can see him, from wherever he is. If he can know the truth. What would he say? He had always looked at Hermann with kind eyes, but now-

If he knows that Hermann had been here for five years, and never spoken, never warned them, just played along day after day until it was too late- hadn't it been Pentecost's own sister, who died in San Francisco?

His throat clenches, a soft cry barely stifled. _I did what I could_ , he cries into the silence of his mind. _I did everything- I did not know- I am sorry, I am_ so _sorry-_

He has said these prayers a thousand times. The first a morning in August, staggering out of the college and falling to his knees on the asphalt, not even feeling the pain behind the scream of denial, the enormity of the thing he had done. Had not done. Had allowed to happen.

After every attack since, at the churches in America, the Mosques of Indonesia, the shrines of Japan (because what are they but aspects of the same being, like the thousand reflections of the sun on water?). _Forgive me_ Vater _for I have sinned. Oh how I have sinned_.

Then it had been last year, a breath between attacks on Christmas eve, when he had made his way to the cathedral and found it so crowded he had nowhere to sit. He had knelt in the aisle, closed his eyes and tried to believe, against the numbers scrawling themselves inside his head. The certainty of horrors even _Gott_ could not stand against - born, as he was, of different gods.

He had prayed for forgiveness, for victory, and finally, the prayer turned into that which echoed with every panted breath, every beat of his terrified heart.

_Please, Gott, don't let them take me alive._

It seems such an unfair bargain that _Gott_ had taken Pentecost, and left Hermann bruised and alive, after everything he could have prevented, and had not.

He closes his eyes, but the tears do not come. They sit, in the silence of the room, while the candles spit and drip wax on the offering bowls, swirl in the saucer of tea.

 


	7. Alienist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newton makes enemies, Hermann has to deal.

Hermann picks himself up stiffly from the scaffold holding up the remains of Crimson Typhoon and rubs his leg, trying to ease the ache setting in. Fifteen minutes of evaluating the damage and the results are dispiriting. The Jaeger's head was beyond salvaging, a final tomb for its three pilots in Hong Kong harbour. That was to be expected, but they had not realised that most of the internal structure had gone too when Otachi tore it out, and the seawater ruined most of the wiring.

They received the remains of Tacit Ronin yesterday, and they should be able to combine the two. It will be an awkward mix, a Mark One and a Mark Four, but the pieces match, and the programming should be compatible. Another Frankenjaeger, as the pilots have taken to calling them. They look in disgust at the new chimeras, cobbled together from the wrecks they have been provided.

But there's no time now, even the time it takes to climb to the ground and across to Tacit Ronin seems a waste.

Without meaning to, he picks out a route from this Jaeger to the other- up to the end of the arm, then up the pipes and planks to the edge and across to the suspending platforms where the mechanics are working on the neck joints of the second. The climb is nothing he has not made before, and even the jump is manageable-

Hermann shakes himself, carrying on the long climb down. He is spending too much time out of his skin if he is starting to think like this, getting too used to the ease of six limbs and the balance of tails, frustrated by the restriction of human skin. He cannot afford to be comfortable here, to forget.

"Doctor Gottlieb?"

Hermann jerks around; one of the mechanics is walking over, he shoves up his welding mask and Hermann recognises Raleigh Beckett. He is smiling. "What're you doing over here with us grease monkeys?"

"I could ask you the same." Hermann shifts his weight on his good leg. "I was under the impression you were training our new pilots."

"Yeah, we tried that." Beckett scratches his oil stained hair. "Turns out I'm no good unless I'm hitting something so Mako's taking care of it. I thought as long as I was being useless, I could get up here and give a hand. Who knew, seven years on the Wall wasn't a complete waste of time? You?"

Hermann looks over to Tacit Ronin. From here he can see the bulk of the damage is in the limbs and armor. It looks promising. He does not want a row with pilots over the morality of repurposing Jaegers. "We are trying to provide your Jaegers. Now, if you will excuse me-"

"Right, okay." Beckett hesitates, hovering uncomfortably. Hermann glances back at him. "Look, can we talk?"

Hermann frowns. He barely knows the man, a good Jaeger pilot, but no engineer despite his enthusiasm. "Not for long." He sits on a low plank, and stretches his leg with a sigh. "What is it?"

"It's about Dr. Geiszler." Hermann sits up straighter, his back prickling as his spines struggle to stand up defensively under his skin.

"What about him?" The words come out harsh as the teeth lining his throat contract.

Beckett holds up a hand. "Look, I don't know the guy, it's just- well- and it's not just the new pilots-"

Hermann gets up; he can feel the joints of his arms, the pressure of disparate limbs within the confines of human skin. His teeth itch. "If that is all you have to say-"

Beckett snatches at his arm. "Look, what side is he on?"

Hermann stops dead. He feels his teeth come loose in his mouth.

The Ranger has both hands up now, trying to appease. "Look, some of the new guys are a bit freaked out. He gave a talk yesterday and the shit he said- I couldn't believe anyone would _say_ that, just-" He waves a hand, lost for words.

Hermann swallows, tastes salt, tucks a tooth under his tongue. Newton, you _utter idiot_. "What did he say?" His voice seems to come from a long distance underwater.

"All this stuff about the Kaiju. That they're not that bad really, that it wasn't really them we were fighting and we need to be going after these Masters of theirs and if we could just get _them_ everything will be fine." Beckett shakes his head. "And they just brought in the bits of Ronin and Echo and- shit, you know, I didn't know about Echo? I used to drink with those guys and now they tell me they're gone and in comes Geiszler saying that-" He breaks off, swallows, looks away.

Hermann does not dare say anything.

Beckett coughs a laugh, humorless. "And that's coming from _him_ , you know, I thought after Otachi almost ate him he might get a clue, but he just comes away _loving_ them! Have you seen he's gotten it tattooed on his neck? After all that, and Typhoon and Cherno- and now this _BuenaKai_ bullshit-"

He stops for breath. Hermann waits a moment. "Are you quite done?"

Beckett sighs. "Look, I get he's your friend. But seriously, how do you- the way he-" Words finally fail Ranger Beckett, and he rocks back on his heels with a last shrug.

Hermann pulls out his handkerchief and makes a show of wiping his face delicately, tonguing his loose tooth surreptitiously into it. Fingers clenched tight to keep from trembling. The right words. Because apparently Newton has seen fit to leave him to deal with this disaster. He needs the right words because if anyone starts wondering all they have to do is _look_ and Hermann knows his cover will not survive long.

He was always better at writing his deceptions. Unfortunately, this will take more than hacking algorhythms.

"Ranger Beckett." It's not hard to inflect the right amount of anger in his voice, there's more than enough. "Could I remind you that were it not for _Doctor_ Geiszler, you and Ranger Mori would be so much shrapnel at the bottom of the Pacific?"

"I'm not saying-"

"From where I am standing, that is _precisely_ what you are saying." Hermann tries to steady his breathing. His blood burns under the layers of skin, and he is trying not to pant. He keeps talking, drowning Beckett's words under a tide of outrage- "If you have a complaint about his behaviour, I am sure you can lodge it with Marshall Hansen. I am sure he will be _delighted_ to hear about it right now. Speaking from experience, I would not expect much."

"Look, okay." Beckett's hands are up. "I get it, I'm sorry."

Hermann exhales slowly, tension wound so tight inside him that he is close to shaking.

"Just- why? Look, you knew all the teams, why are you okay with this? It- it's sick."

Hermann flexes his hands on his cane, the disparate bones click against each other. "Newton- and I for that matter- prefer to reserve our ire for the actual culprits of this mess, rather than waste it on creatures that have little to nothing to do with it."

Beckett stares at him, "Little to nothing-" he catches his breath and tries to calm down. "Look, have you ever seen one? Because if you'd see what I mean-"

"Beyond drifting with one?" Hermann snaps, because behind his anger with Newt, some trampled, bruised part of him is protesting this slander of his species- who have had more than damn enough to deal with already.

He blames Newt for that too. He never used to think like this before spending this much time out of his skin.

Beckett cannot seem to find a retort at first. "And so what?" He shrugs, "Geiszler's right then? They're all misunderstood little puppy dogs?"

"Dogs." Hermann feels his lips curl away from his teeth. It is not a smile. Something hot boils in his stomach and the words snarl against the teeth in his throat. "That is as good a way as any to explain it. I remember the Anchorage Shatterdome had underground dog fights, before Pentecost stopped it. Have you ever seen what people do to dogs to make them _fight_ , Ranger Beckett?"

Silence. Then- "Yeah, once."

"Do you remember the dogs?" When Beckett does not answer, Hermann continues, the words coming faster. "Like that. Do you realise those marks on their bodies were scars? Do you know they still hurt, because the best way for the Masters to control them was to drive them mad?" Faster. The words leave his mouth without passing through his mind. The scars under his skin ache as if new.

"Do you know they used to fight them, that for every one that came through the Breach ten were left dead? Do-" It dawns on Hermann, in a bolt of horror, that he cannot stop, his mouth is moving of its own accord, and he _cannot_ stop, as though the words have pent up inside him for so long that the pressure is too much to resist. "And there was no food, no sleep, and they were always watching-" Hermann can hear the scrape of claws through his mind as his words spill out, and any moment he is going to say something irretrievable, but he _cannot stop_ , out of his control and the panic is so huge, so all encompassing that a scream starts to war with the gabbled words for escape. "There was no way out, not until the Breach and even then they-"

His hands are still his. Hermann reaches up and covers his mouth, clamping his jaws shut, his teeth splitting bloody, and ersatz enamel crumbling as his true teeth sink through. Beckett is staring at him in horror. Hermann can feel the muscles in his neck contract as the words try and fight their way out.

He turns, he runs.

 

* * *

 

 

Newt is running for the Shatterdome when Hermann hits him coming the other way at a mad scramble. He isn't carrying his cane and simply falls over when Newt catches him, eyes wild and crazed, one hand locked over his mouth.

 Newt lets him down slowly to sit on the floor. Hermann makes a muffled sound, hand still held white-knuckled over his mouth. As Newt stares, a rivulet of blood runs down Hermann's hand, staining his cuffs red where his claws have slipped free and are digging into his face.

_Shit_

He tugs the hand away, and Hermann just uses the other one. Newt grabs that one too, then lets go of both and pulls Hermann into a tight hug before he can bring them up again. Hermann is so tense it feels like hugging a skeleton, before he collapses, buries his head in Newt's shirt and starts shaking. Newt can feel his teeth through the thin fabric. They are far too sharp.

People are staring at them; Newt spots Tendo and waves him away desperately, grimacing. Tendo nods.

"Come on you guys- give them some space! Don't you have somewhere else to be? Come on, piss off-" He looks at Newt, "How long do you need?"

"I don't know man, ten minutes?" Newt rubs Hermann's back, the tail ridges twitch under his fingers. Against his shoulder, Hermann's breath comes in a sob. "Just keep this place clear."

Newt is going to buy Tendo ten thousand bottles of pure-grade vodka for this. He doesn't even ask questions, just ropes in two of the new Jaeger pilots to stand guard around each corner and turn people away. Newton could cry in relief.

He closes his eyes as the corridor empties, Hermann jerks his head up with a cry, deep and rasping through the teeth in his throat. He's crying. Not as a human, with tears- that's just pain reflex - but as a Kaiju; with sound. Raw, desperate shrieks ripped up from somewhere deep inside him. Newt tightens his grip and rocks Hermann, and hopes he sounds human enough that no one comes to see.

His hands tighten on Newt's back and Newt fights a gasp as the claws dig in. He doesn't let go, tries to remember what his Mom used to do when he had an episode. What to do when the world was too big and chaotic and _loud_. "Don't cry." That just prompts a deeper sob, and an incremental tightening of the claws. "Shh, it's okay." With is the biggest lie Newt's _ever_ said and it doesn't help he's the worst liar ever. Hermann tries to stifle the cries in Newt's shirt and only ends up wrenching his head up to half-scream-half-gasp in air.

"I didn't want to." He chokes. Newt almost misses it.

"I know." He rubs Hermann's back.

"I did not- they made me fight - I had to - I wanted to _live_ -" He gasps for breath.

_Shit_ , "Hey, don't say that." Newt holds him tighter. "Shh, of course it's not your fault."

"I killed them." He chokes. "They made me kill them. I didn't want to-"

"I know." Newt clenches his eyes shut, trying to push his way into Hermann's head and _make it stop_. They're not asleep, he can't.

Hermann cries out, kicks out blindly. "I didn't- I'm sorry, please I didn't want to- _I'm sorry!_ "

"Oh fuck, please stop." Because this is hell. This is _horrendous_ , hearing Hermann desperately trying to justify his own survival.

Newt pulls his head down to his chest and tries to somehow make himself bigger, wrap himself around a guy who- let's face it - is bigger than him even when he's not pretending to be human. It seems to work, and the howls die down to little desperate gasps of pain and whimpers.

"That's good, I got you." Hermann jerks his head up and knocks against Newt's chin. He's shaking so hard it's difficult to hold him. He looks up and his eyes are wild, mouth open to reveal familiarly sharp teeth. Newt only hopes that's his own blood.

He blinks, and something familiar revives in his eyes. "Yeah, it's me." Newt rubs his back.

Hermann swallows, eyes darting around. "This is all your fault." He moans, his voice is raw and grating, but it's such a relief that Newt smiles weakly.

"Yeah, it's always my fault. It's fine."

"If you hadn't been - _such an idiot_ \- he would not- and I would not have had to-" His voice breaks, the teeth in his throat grind together and he chokes.

"Yeah." Newt pulls him in close and rocks him, like a small child. Hermann can blame him all he wants as long as he's not hating himself. "Yeah, I'm a horrible person. I listen to awful music, and my science sucks, and my clothes are a mess-" He strokes Hermann's hair and feels a bolt of alarm when several strands come off in his hands. They need to get out of here. "I mean, why are you even here? You can clearly do so much better-" Hermann slowly quietens as he talks. Newt kisses the back of his neck. He feels the tension in Hermann's shoulders fade a little. "Can you move?"

He has to half-carry Hermann as they get up. His legs buckle under him, bending digitigrade. He looks around blankly, as though not sure where he is, but doesn't fight Newt when he tugs him back towards their room. He's busted his leg really badly, running on it, because it won't take his weight at all. He hangs on to Newt's shoulder, and Newt keeps a hand on his waist to hold him up.

The Jaeger pilot he passes frowns at them over her veil, "Do you want a hand?"

"No, it's ok." Newt sweats under his shirt, because Hermann's fingers are split to the core, the tips of his claws emerging from the shreds of skin. They hurry off as fast as Newt can manage. Hermann doesn't react, he moves when Newt leads him in a direction, but doesn't move otherwise, staring blindly off in the distance.

He has to sit him down when they reach their rooms, to open the door, then hustle Hermann inside. He blinks once inside, maybe it's the familiar space, the smell of both of them, but he's starting to calm down and when he looks at Newt, there's recognition in his eyes.

"Okay, let's sit you down." Hermann collapses on the bed. When Newt starts unbuttoning his jacket he looks up and makes a weak sound of protest. "It's okay, it's me."

His shirt is ruined. All four arms have torn free and there's red blood everywhere. It's a miracle his jacket survived. It's a miracle no one _saw_. "Come on, we need to get you in the shower."

Hermann's torn his skin to tatters in his panic. Apart from his arms, one tail has torn free, his legs have bent back into their digitigrade formation, and the claws are visible. His shirt and back are shredded from the spines.

Newt sits Hermann under the shower, picks up the steak knife from last night's dinner and locks the door. Hermann looks up at him when he comes back in, and closes his eyes when he turns the water on. This time, he takes his clothes off before squatting beside him with the knife.

It's an insane risk, but Hermann wouldn't fool anyone like this anyway, and he might feel better back in his own skin.

Hermann's eyes follow the blade, fascinated. When Newt listens, all he can hear in his head is static, blank white noise from complete overload. Newt stokes the tatters of his back in sympathy. He's been there, it's not fun.

He runs the knife carefully down Hermann's back, the tip just touching the hide underneath. His skin is tougher than when Hermann usually sheds, and comes off in chunks rather than crumbling. It peels off slowly under the spray, brown-red half-clotted blood washing off. Hermann shudders as the water hits his bare skin. He blinks, and brings his hands up to his face and extends his claws to take it off.

"Hey- hey!" Newt knocks his hands away. "You'll take your eyes out. Let me do it."

"Y-you are presuming- a lot of trust." The words stop and start unsteadily, and Hermann is still far too distant in his own eyes, but he's talking.

"Come on, I dissect stuff all the time. This is home turf dude." He runs the knife down the back of Hermann's neck, and sets it aside to get his fingers in and pull the mask of skin away from his face. It's a relief to see the familiar dark features, the black-on-black eyes.

"You utter idiot." Hermann whispers, words almost lost under the spray. "Utter, utter idiot."

"That's me." Newt agrees, working on the junction of neck and shoulder. "Don't move."

"Beckett asked me why you defend us." The muscles under the bared skin twitch, trembling. Newt kisses them, one by one, working his way down.

"Beckett is an asshole."

"I had to tell him." Hermann's voice rises, shrill. "About- why, and-" His hands spasm.

"Next time, you tell him to fuck off."

"And I - could not stop." Newt puts the knife down, Hermann is shaking under the spray so hard that he doesn't dare cut. "I could not stop talking." Newt rubs his back. "I could not stop." He repeats helplessly.

"Yeah,"

Hermann turns, grabs his hand. " _I could not stop!"_ He wails.

Then Newt gets it. "Oh, fuck no." Newt hugs him. "No, that's not it. That's just in your head." Hermann doesn't look convinced. "Look, I used to get like that- fuck, still do sometimes, remember that meltdown I had when we first moved here and the tank broke and I started screaming at the workman?" He rubs Hermann's back, along the spines, scars and soft dimples of the eyespots. "I can never stop, and it gets pretty scary, but it's just in your head."

Which is no consolation whatever, and Newt should know, because he's been living inside his own head for long enough. And it's not like he'll be able to get therapy, or even fucking medication because who the hell knows what particular chemical combinations causes flashbacks in a Kaiju? Hermann calms down a little, and Newt tucks his head against his chest. "Look, we're connected, right? I think I'd have noticed if something went poking around in your head. You had a panic attack. You got scared and it went a bit crazy."

Hermann makes a small sound, close to a whimper. When Newt looks down, his eyes are closed, throat flexing as his breathes. Every so often, one of them catches in a small sound of pain. Newt holds him through the aftershocks. The water and the damage has done for the rest of Hermann's skin, which clogs the drain and the water slowly fills up the shower pit. The water runs cold a few moments later and Newt gets up to turn the tap off. Hermann croaks a wordless protest, and Newt touches his shoulder. "S'okay."

He gets Hermann out and dried off, and put to bed. After a moment, he pulls the dresser across their door. It's pretty fucking inadequate, but it'll have to do because Hermann is in no state to do anything and it takes six hours for him to grow a new skin anyway.

Newt sits next to Hermann, his hand scrabbles for Newt's, then he's almost instantly asleep. "Yeah, it takes it out of you." Newt says to no one in particular.

 

* * *

 

Newt wakes with a jolt. Someone's banging at the door.

  _Shit- fuck shit_

 He scrambles out of bed and throws the bedclothes over Hermann's head. He doesn't wake up, just curls up tighter. Another hammering and fuck- what is he gonna _say_? He shoves the dresser back and unlocks the door. He opens the door a crack.

 His stomach drops to somewhere around his knees. It's Beckett and Mori. They stare at him and Newt is suddenly, brilliantly aware that he's only wearing his boxer shorts; he can feel their eyes track down to stare at his tattoos. There's a moment of self-consciousness, and Newt shoves it away because he so doesn't need this. Besides, he's not gonna be ashamed of them, not now. "What do you want?"

"I- uh-" Beckett rallies. "Is this Gottlieb's room?" 

"Yeah." Newt leans against the doorpost, blocking them from seeing inside.

 "Doctor Geiszler." Mori smiles, a little formally, but still smiling. Newt doesn't smile back. His back feels cold with sweat and he hopes to fuck they don't notice. "We would like to speak to Doctor Gottlieb, please."

 "Well yeah you can't." Mori is nice. She's been nothing but polite to Newt and he's known her for eight years. She used to come into his lab when she was younger, to learn how to kill Kaiju. She was always so driven to see them all dead. "He's asleep."

 Beckett steps up to the door and Newt is very aware the guy's got nearly a foot on him in height. He's still two steps down and can look Newt in the eye. The bastard's all muscles, and Mori's even worse. Newt knows that if they _really_ wanted to come in, he'd be a bleeding mess on the floor.

"I wanted to give him this back." He hands Newt Hermann's cane. "He - uh, left it behind."

Newt snatches it. "Thanks." He tries to close the door.

Beckett grabs the handle from the inside. "Hey- just- just a moment, okay?"

"Yeah, no." Newt tries to shove him out, Beckett doesn't move. "This is a really bad time just- go away, okay?"

"I just want to know what happened." Beckett doesn't go any further in thank _fuck_ , but if he sees Hermann they'll be pretty much finished. _Please don't let him wake up._ "He just started yelling and ran off. I wanted to know-"

Newt swallows and then, the words are there, just there in his mind. Because while Newt cannot do this, Hermann has had to every moment of his human life. "The drift was really fucking bad, okay?" Newt gets in front of him, blocking his view of the bed. "So yeah, he freaked out. Next time you have a problem with me, you leave him out of it, okay?"

Beckett steps back and Newt manages to close the door most of the way. "Okay, I'm sorry. But- what did you see in there?"

Newt stares at him, him and Mori, and he's _tired_. Tired and angry and drained and fed up and he doesn't want to deal with two people who'd slaughter Hermann given half the chance. "Trust me, you don't want to know." He spits at them, and slams the door.

Newt collapses against the unyielding metal and drops his head in his hands. He's got a pounding headache and he's starting to shiver from the cold now the adrenaline is wearing off.

Hermann is still asleep when he gets back to bed. His back is hunched- spines raised, claws extended. His teeth are bared.

Newt wonders if he dreaming of fighting, or if he's picked up on Newt's agitation through his dream. He strokes the smooth skin, hugs Hermann around the waist until he untenses, and his breathing eases. His eyes move under their lids, but the dreams seem quieter. 

Newt lets go, and tries to slide back under the covers. His feet tangle in shredded cloth, and he yelps when a gutted spring bangs against a toe. Newt swears and rubs his foot, he looks down to where Hermann's torn the sheets to ribbons. His kicks have eviscerated the mattress, and one foot is still buried to the ankle in its remains. As he watches, Hermann tries to turn over, wrenches his foot and violently lashes at a pillow in his panic, spilling feathers everywhere until Newt holds him down and tries to hush him. He can feel the muscles trembling under his hands, ribcage heaving. Slowly, his breathing slows and Hermann slides back to full sleep.

When he's quiet, Newt closes his eyes and groans. He tries not to think of the explaining they're going to have to do tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this series of scribbles! Next up will be more in line with previous installments, so it'll be a big one! Coming soon.


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